Give Me Hope In Silence
by ninaluvsathena
Summary: Jake Griffin was floated for treason, but Clarke never knew why. Upset, Clarke sleeps with Finn who is sent to the Sky Box. Clarke soon realizes she's pregnant and refuses to have an abortion, much to the chagrin of the Council, who would like to keep news of faulty IUDs from spreading around the Ark. Instead, the Council comes up with a plan to marry Clarke to Bellamy.
1. Chapter 1

Bellamy clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. They were cuffed behind his back and he pulled against them as tight as he could, feeling the sting as they cut into the tender flesh of his wrists. He needed the pain – needed it to keep his clarity, keep him grounded, keep him sane. But fear and anxiety still roiled in his gut, making him nauseous.

He took slow, deep breaths.

If he was going to die, he was going to die with some dignity. He didn't get to say goodbye to his mother as they led her to her execution, only watched as she faced down the fear he knew she must've felt inside and walked into the airlock, completely composed and with her head held high.

He was determined to do the same. But he could feel the anger as it boiled inside of him.

 _"_ _No, we can't tell anyone. Tell me what happens if we do."_

 _"_ _You get floated."_

He'd known then, even as an eight year old, what would happen. But then he watched with regret as Octavia grew, just as her desperation to see anything outside of their four walls, grew with her. It wasn't her fault and she didn't deserve to be locked away forever, she was bright and vibrant like the most radiant flower, and she needed freedom like a plant needed the sun.

That's what he told himself over and over again as he carried the mask to their quarters, trying to talk himself into what he was about to do, the risk he was about to take. Then it all went to hell and now here he was, walking towards his death, having just watched his mother's.

She was a woman whose government failed her, who couldn't abort the child growing within her, and who did what she had to do to protect those she loved. She was strong and she was good – and she was dead because of him. Because of the risk he'd took. Octavia and his mother, his mother and Octavia. It was his job to protect his family and now he would be responsible for their deaths. It killed him inside, eating him away piece by piece – the shame, the guilt, the intense fury at himself and the privileged bastards that put them in this impossible situation in the first place.

If he were honest, as terrified as he was, a part of him was happy to die. He deserved it after how much he'd fucked everything up. The only regret he had about his coming execution was Octavia. If she was allowed to live, she would be alone – alone and scared – and she would be unprepared to navigate this much bigger world she now found herself in. He wished he could see her one last time, beg her for forgiveness, tell her to stay strong. She was so much stronger than she knew.

The guards held tightly onto his arms, one on each side, leading him down a hall – leading him to his death. They stopped in front of a door and he felt like his heart was trying to beat out of his chest. He eyed the small hallway they were in, nervously, and he suddenly noticed just how clean it was – no grease stains covering the walls and floor, no missing panels showing the dangerous wires hiding beneath. This wasn't Factory.

He was looking around, trying to get his bearings, when he saw it, written on the far side of the wall in bold letters above the paneling – Government-Science Station. He furrowed his brows and blinked. It would've made more sense to just float him out of the nearest airlock in Factory – hell it would've made more sense just to float him right after his mother. _Why waste the time walking me all the way to Go-Sci?_

The guard to his left opened the door into a small round room. Inside sat only a table and chairs, one of them occupied by an attractive, dark-haired woman. She was middle-aged and her black hair contrasted sharply against her fair skin. This was not at all what he was expecting, and this sudden turn of events was making him more nervous than he'd been just moments before when he thought he was walking to his own death.

The guards seated him in the nearest chair that sat opposite the woman. A small smile graced her lips as she studied him from across the table – it made his body tense, causing the cuffs to bite into his wrists even more. He swallowed, getting up the nerve to glance at the woman before catching her eyes and quickly looking down again. He was suddenly angry at himself for being afraid of this bitch who no doubt was on the Council. One of the privileged who was responsible for all that had gone wrong. And here he was, flustered and scared as she watched him with that infuriating smirk. He clenched his jaw, finally locking eyes with her.

Her smile became wider at his show of resistance. "Mr. Blake," her voice was smooth and soft, "I have a proposition for you."

Not what he was expecting at all.

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Abby inhaled slowly before sitting across from her daughter. She looked at the girl's blonde hair, usually so bright – sometimes appearing almost white in its normal braid - now hung limp and dull, covering her face like a curtain. Abby tried to meet her eyes but Clarke had her head bowed, staring listlessly at the table between them.

Her chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat at seeing her daughter in so much pain.

It had been a mistake, everyone makes mistakes – especially in their youth – but this was a mistake Clarke would have to pay for, for the rest of her life. And it killed Abby that she couldn't take this burden from her. It wasn't fair after what they had already been through these last few months, what they had lost.

Now they might lose each other too.

She cleared her throat, the sound slicing through the thick silence. "His name is Bellamy Blake."

She waited to see if Clarke would have any kind of reaction. Any questions.

She didn't.

She didn't even move.

Abby knew she was waiting for the important parts – the parts Abby dreaded telling her.

"He's from Factory," she read from the tablet. She said it quickly – _like pulling off a band-aid_. But it didn't make the hurt any less, and she watched, tears pooling in her eyes, as Clarke flinched at the news.

They had known it would probably be someone from Factory or Mecha – they were desperate enough to take this deal. But as Abby looked at her daughter, who sat across from her blanketed in grief but still so stoic and proud, she knew anyone would be lucky to be with her, and _none_ of them deserved her – certainly not some strange man from Factory.

"It's not exactly a surprise," Clarke croaked, the pain in her voice so thick it seemed almost like a physical thing.

A tear escaped, running down Abby's cheek and she quickly wiped it away. "No, it's not." She gripped the tablet, looking down at the face in the picture. "Do you want to see what he looks like? His information-"

"Does it matter?" Clarke shook her head. "I'll still have to go through with it."

"Yes, but it can make things a little easier perhaps."

Clarke sat up straight in her chair, glaring at her mother. "Easier? How could seeing his face make this _easier_?" she snapped.

Abby clenched her jaw, she wouldn't blame Clarke for her outburst, nothing about this was easy. If Clarke needed to take her anger out on her, Abby would let her – it was the least she could do after not being able to stop this from happening.

She had once carried a lot of clout on the Council but that was before her husband had been floated for treason, and her daughter had put them in an awkward situation. Now, except for Thelonious, they all viewed her with suspicion. But she refused to cower to them. She was on the Council and she would do the job she had sworn to do with her head held high.

Still, they had kept her out of the discussion and decision making of _this_ issue. She was too close, they'd said. But eventually they'd told her their decision – they had been unanimous in that the situation would be dealt with in the manner in which it normally was, or as much as it could be, given the circumstances.

Thelonious had looked at her with his sad eyes that begged her for her forgiveness. "Abby, this is the best possible solution, for the Council and for Clarke." Abby bit her tongue. No matter that she too was on the Council and didn't get a vote for her own daughter's wellbeing, or that her husband had just been floated and she would now be losing her daughter to, or that a man would be giving up his right to ever have a child of his own.

She pursed her lips, the Council did what was best for the Council. But it didn't matter anymore, and no amount of anger towards her colleagues would change the course of things now.

She slid her finger slowly up the tablet, going through the man's information. "Well, you can see his age. He's not too much older than you." Though Abby knew that a person's age would have nothing to do with their temperament or disposition, she was still relieved that the man her daughter was being forced to marry was closer to the girl's own age.

Clarke licked her lips before pressing them together tightly, looking down at the hands in her lap.

Abby continued reading the man's info. "And he works as… a _janitor_." Abby closed her eyes, shaking her head. He may not have been a lecherous old man, but he was about as low on the totem pole as you could get on the Ark. Clarke was the daughter of a councilwoman and an Engineering Officer, she'd tested out of many of her classes, was training to become a doctor, and had now started assisting Abby in surgeries, and she was only sixteen – she was brilliant… and she would now spend the rest of her life being tied down to a janitor.

Clarke scoffed. "I'm sure that's very rewarding for him."

"Clarke-"

Clarke scowled at her mother. "What? What do you want me to say? He's a janitor – that's wonderful for him. What about me?" Clarke leaned forward on the table, desperate to hear the answer that Abby knew she had truly been waiting for. "Will I be allowed to finish my training and continue working in medical?"

Abby took a deep breath before answering. She'd asked the Council this earlier, knowing it was the question Clarke worried about most. "You will be allowed to finish your medical training." Clarke sighed and her whole body relaxed as she sat back in her chair. "But not with me, and not in medical station."

Clarke's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked, though by the torment in her voice Abby could tell she already understood.

She'd pushed, begged, but the Council had stood firm in their decision that Clarke would train and work wherever her husband lived. Wherever she would now live.

She clenched the tablet, looking down again at the face of the man who was stealing her daughter. She knew this wasn't his fault and that he probably had no real say in anything, but in that moment he was so easy to blame him. This janitor from Factory who agreed to take her daughter like chattel – and probably getting paid handsomely for it, in some way – stealing her from her home, her family, her friends, her future, her _dreams_.

She swallowed thickly, unable to look Clarke in the eye as she tried to offer an explanation in her answer. "The clinic in Factory is in dire need of staff."

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

Abby's throat tightened as she tried to hold back her own tears. "They'll be so lucky to have you." Her heart squeezed in her chest. She leaned forward reaching her hand across the table, only realizing too late that Clarke's were still in her lap. "Baby…" Her voice broke, shattering against her daughter's cries like glass.

"I'll never see you again," Clarke wept.

Abby's eyes opened wide, fierce determination flooding inside her. "Yes you will. I won't leave you alone, I promise." She stood and made her way to Clarke's side, kneeling down and taking her wet face in her hands, looking into her daughter's shining eyes. "I'll come to see you as often as I can. I'm always with you." She pulled Clarke forward, cradling the girl's head to her chest.

"No one will take us away from each other."

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Clarke slowly opened her eyes, rubbing away the sleep there. She turned her head and was just able to make out Abby's profile in the dark.

After their discussion, they had laid in Abby's bed - "It's too big now without your dad," she'd said – and held her again as Clarke cried out her frustration and fear till they both fell asleep in exhaustion.

Her whole life had turned upside down within just a few months, and now she wouldn't even have her mother to help her through it.

She quietly left the bedroom and made her way to the kitchen table. On it, lay the tablet her mother had been clutching, the tablet with all the information… _his_ information. She loomed above it, staring at it as it tempted her with its blinking green light.

She inhaled and her nostrils flared. She'd meant what she'd said earlier – looking at his picture, reading the bare bones of his information that they'd been given, wouldn't matter. She'd find it all out soon enough anyway.

She stared at the small device, curiosity eating away at the emotions that had been clouding her before. She timidly reached out her finger, running it lightly across the smooth screen. It abruptly came to life, filling the semi-dark room with light. She blink and squinted at the brightness, but her eyes slowly adjusted to the change… and then she was looking at the face of her future husband.

The first thing she noticed was how dark he was – _exotic_ , she thought – so different from her. His hair, his skin, his eyes… his eyes looked just as black as his hair, she'd never seen anyone with eyes so dark – _so dark and deep you could drown in them._ She looked over at his ID description – they were brown, not black, but that didn't stop the shiver of fear from running down her spine. He was attractive, but that didn't mean he would be kind or understanding. Not for the first time, she wondered why the hell he was agreeing to this. _What is he getting out of it?_

In these situations – as rare as they are, or so said the Council – if termination is not chosen, then both parties were responsible, but her case was different, and this man, whom she had never even seen, was willing to take on the responsibility that belonged to another man – not only that, but also agreeing to never father a child of his own.

She wasn't an idiot – she wasn't a prize, and no one would bend so far backwards without getting _something_ in return.

"Are you alright?"

Clarke jumped, gasping in the near dark.

Abby came closer and Clarke could see her apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

Clarke shook her head. "I'm just… nervous, I guess."

Abby gently took hold of Clarke's arm. "You have every right to feel nervous, and angry." She took another step forward, her dark eyes boring into Clarke's blue ones. "But you don't have to."

Clarke tilted her head slightly before finally understanding her mother's meaning. "Mom-"

Abby's hold became tighter – desperate. "It's not too late."

Clarke raised her brows as her eyes widened. "Don't," she warned.

"Please, just listen-"

"No! You promised-"

"I'm keeping my promise." Abby pressed her lips together before continuing. "I will stand behind whatever decision you make, but I'm still your mother, and it's my job to tell you when I think you're making a mistake."

Clarke looked away, her jaw clenched. When the Council had advised the best solution to her unlucky set of circumstances was termination, she'd immediately said no. This was a life she had created, even unintentionally, and she wasn't going to punish it for her mistake – or that of the Council and the shoddy IUD devices they refused to acknowledge. Unfortunately, being under eighteen, it wasn't up to her, but her guardian. Her mother had fought and argued her point to her daughter – it also so happened to be the _Council's_ point – but Clarke stood firm and Abby, thankfully, agreed to stand beside her, even if she disagreed – though not without still trying to persuade her.

"Look at everything you're giving up. Your future will be nothing like you planned. Everything will be so much _harder_ for you. Your friends, your home," Abby shook her head, both hands now gripping Clarke's arms. "Baby, you need to think about this."

Clarke looked steadily into her mother's eyes. "I have," she said firmly. "I'm having this baby, and if the Council says the only way that that's possible is by marrying him," she nodded down to the tablet, "then I will."


	2. Chapter 2

**So, here's chapter 2, since I already had it written and I was just like, why the heck not. This chapter comes with some Wells (cuz he's awesome, okay) and a wedding (yay!). Wedding vows are not mine (cuz I'm just not that creative, sadly), and neither is grumpy!bellamy (or any characters in this fic, for that matter). Title is taken from the song The Enemy by Mumford and Sons (go listen to it if you haven't yet, it's amazing). If you wanna chat, or have questions about my fics, I'm athenasnina on tumblr. Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy chapter 2!**

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Clarke looked dubiously at her mother's finger, smeared with lip gloss. " _Mom_."

Abby brought her hand down and huffed. "No matter how it came about, or why, this is still an important day. I think that means it's okay to break out the makeup."

Clarke sighed then nodded in acquiescence, making Abby smile lightly. Clarke knew lip gloss, and makeup in general, was rare and wildly expensive at the exchange. All things recycled or grown on the Ark were supposed to be used for making essentials – makeup was not one of them. But that didn't stop people in Agro from making and trading it at the exchange anyway.

Abby spread the gloss lightly across Clarke's lips. "I remember when your father got this for me." Clarke looked up into her mother's happy face "It was our fifteenth anniversary. I was so angry."

Clarke quirked the corner of her lips, aware of Abby's working fingers. "I remember."

Abby raised her brows. "And do you remember what he traded for it?"

Clarke's smile went wide despite trying to contain it.

"His dinner jacket," they said in unison before giggling.

Abby scoffed. "I had just traded all of my makeup for a tie that would match that jacket, and there he was trading it in for lip gloss to round out my makeup."

"To be fair, I don't think he really liked that jacket," Clarke chuckled.

"Or that tie," Abby said, with a playful scowl. She sighed, holding up Clarke's chin to look at her lips. "But he wore it that night, and I wore this gloss, and it was still perfect."

They smiled sadly at each other until the mood became somber.

"I miss him," Clarke whispered.

Abby brushed her thumb along the apple of her cheeks. "He'd be so proud of you." She sniffed before widening her eyes " _Terrified_ for you, but proud."

Clarke would've given anything to have her father back. His absence left a hole in her heart and in her life that she'd stupidly tried to fill. He'd been her friend, her mentor, her rock, her _dad_. It seemed almost impossible that someone with such a large presence could suddenly just be… gone.

She took a deep breath before turning back to the mirror, looking at her reflection. The dress had been a last minute find that she'd begged her mother not to get, but of course she hadn't listened. It was a little short, stopping just above her knees, and was a little tight across the chest, but the color – a soft sky blue – matched her eyes perfectly.

Her cheeks were flushed with a soft pink and Abby had put up the top half of her hair in an elegant twist, letting the bottom half lay across her shoulders and back, in soft blonde waves. She looked up and down at her reflection – everything about her appeared soft. She lifted her hand to her belly, trying to tell whether or not that was softer too.

Abby smiled behind her "You're not showing yet. But you will be. And it'll come faster than you expect." She glanced at the clock, then placed her hands on Clarke's shoulders. "It's time."

Clarke took a deep, shuddering breath before nodding her head. She was nowhere near ready, but she could do this – for her baby, she could do this.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke walked down the halls of the Ark beside her mother, her head bowed against the stares and whispers of the people they passed. It was almost like they knew - knew what she was about to do and why. _But they couldn't_ , she reasoned. That was the whole point of the marriage, to keep the Council's secret.

The staring and whispering continued and Clarke could feel her face grow warm with humiliation as she clung to the sides of her dress.

Abby must've noticed and wrapped her arm around her, slowing their pace as she leaned next to Clarke's ear. "They're just admiring," she whispered before smiling. Clarke looked at her with her brows drawn together. "You look beautiful in that dress," she explained. "Like a princess."

And Clarke could see the tears shining in her mother's eyes, but she couldn't handle them - if Abby started crying then she would start crying, and that's not how she was going to show up at her wedding – real or not.

She grinned and snorted. "A princess?"

"Clarke!"

Mother and daughter turned their heads.

Then tears really did almost fall as Clarke saw who'd yelled out her name. "Wells," she breathed.

The weight on her shoulders, and in her chest, lightened so much she had to test it with a deep breath, her whole body practically sighing.

They looked at each other awkwardly. She wasn't sure where they stood. She hadn't seen him since her father's execution. He'd tried to speak with her, came looking for her at her quarters a few times, but she just couldn't. She didn't blame him – he was not his father, he was her best friend – but still, she'd needed time, she'd needed space.

Then, two weeks ago, when her mother confirmed what she already knew – she was pregnant, at sixteen, and the father was a boy she'd only met once – she was so overcome with shame and embarrassment she was too afraid to see him. Too afraid to see the judgment in his eyes. But looking at him now, with his worried face and soft eyes, she should've known better. This was Wells, her best – practically _only_ – friend, and he loved her. And she knew he always would.

She clenched her fists, trying to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him. He seemed to be deciding something as their eyes looked over each other. He swallowed, hard. "I'm sorry."

Breath whooshed from her lungs as she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he immediately embraced her. She pressed her lips tightly together and squeezed her eyes shut, as she crushed her face to his shoulder. He was so big he completely enveloped her, she hadn't felt this safe, this _okay_ , since her dad, and she never wanted to let go.

"I'm sorry," he said, again.

She pulled away, shaking her head. "I missed you."

He nodded, glancing down sheepishly before meeting her eyes again. "I figured you were probably pretty bored without me there to demolish you at chess."

She gave him a watery smile before going back in for a hug.

"I asked my father if _I_ could do it," he whispered against her ear, "if it could be me."

She broke away, eyeing him nervously.

He licked his lips. "I told him I would take you in. Told him it made the most sense, so you wouldn't have to leave," he explained quickly, gesturing around them.

They stood there, the silence dampening everything around them. Clarke's eyes were wide and her face was hot with embarrassment. _How_ _does_ _he_ _know?_

His eyes were sad as he mournfully shook his head. "But he said, no."

Of course Jaha would say no. Their families were close. She'd known Wells for as long as she could remember. But Wells had a bright future ahead of him, and she was sure the last thing his father wanted was for him to be distracted by a baby, and a teenage bride at sixteen. Not to mention, it wouldn't be his. Wells would be an amazing father, and he deserved to have a child of his own, not the remnant of her sad one-night stand.

She gave him a bittersweet smile, because as much as she wanted him to save her from this, she could never have asked him to. They would be happy at first, she knew that he loved her in a way that she didn't love him. But one day someone would, and then he'd be stuck with her, a girl with baggage who could never give him the love that he was worthy of.

"It's okay," she said as she nodded. "I'll be okay."

Abby came up beside them, face covered in sorrow. "It's time to go," she said softly.

Clarke glanced at her before turning back to Wells. She was desperate to stay there, with what was left of her family.

Wells eyed her firmly. "I'm coming with you."

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy clenched his jaw, staring at the wall. He stood with his back straight as he held his hands in front of him. He'd come straight here after work, with a quick shower in between – his upcoming nuptial may be unwanted, but he wasn't a total jackass as not to shower for it, especially after having been scrubbing toilets and mopping floors all day.

He'd quickly thrown on his nicest shirt – a thick, button down Octavia had patched up for his birthday one year – and ran out the door as fast as he could. He'd been worried about being late, hastily making his way through the halls. His heart had been beating in his chest and a feeling, that he refused to acknowledge as nervousness, settled low in his stomach.

Except for the rudimentary information about how this all came about, he knew almost nothing about this girl he was on his way to marry. He knew her name was Clarke Griffin and she was from Alpha Station – he hadn't been told her age, but he guessed she must be young since her boyfriend had been thrown in the Sky Box – but that was all. So, the last thing he wanted to do was show up late to their wedding/first meeting.

Not that he really cared about what she thought of him. He didn't. But what kind of asshole shows up late to his own wedding.

But it turned out he didn't have to worry about being late, because he was apparently marrying said asshole.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, rolling his eyes as he released it. He looked at the clock on the wall, it read 2:35. He'd literally been standing here for thirty fucking minutes. He was new to the janitorial staff, so like any newbie, he was given the worst of everything – that included his schedule. He only had about seven hours left till he had to be back up and once again cleaning up the shit and grease of the Ark. He was tired, he was embarrassed, and okay he was kind of nervous, but most of all he was just pissed.

He worked his jaw from side to side, looking around the large room. It was the room where Vera Kane held her services, and where they kept the last tree.

Vera sat behind him on the left, and she leaned forward placing a hand on his forearm. He looked down at her, trying to hold back his frustration. She didn't deserve his ire.

"I'm sure she'll be here soon," she said, kindly.

Bellamy took another deep breath before nodding his head. Vera Kane was a good woman – not something he thought often about the people from Alpha. He didn't always believe everything she preached but his mother had, taking him here nearly every Sunday before Octavia was born.

"Yes, I'm sure it's just a case of cold feet." Diana Sydney sat on his right, one leg crossed over the other – all confidence and control. "I've officiated over many weddings, and believe me, this happens more often than you'd think."

Sydney was Factory Station's Representative and as such had the power to perform weddings, among other things. Bellamy always liked her, she was shrewd, resourceful, cunning. She'd been one of the few people from Factory who had risen to the seat of Chancellor. But like all politicians, Bellamy was wary of her. He wondered if she knew anything about _this_ particular wedding she was presiding over – just how well informed was she.

"As long as she shows up… _eventually_ ," he sighed, tiredly.

The door suddenly swung open, making the three of them look back.

Sydney and Vera stood from their seats. "Well, happy day. It looks like there's going to be a wedding after all," Sydney teased, with a smile.

He watched as three people walked into the room, and he could immediately tell which one he was here for. His breath caught in his throat and everything else seemed to fall into a haze of unimportance around him when he saw her. He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't thought about what she'd look like. Yes, this was a marriage of convenience, but he was still a man and she was still a wom- _girl_.

He knew she'd be young, but it hits him hard when actually _seeing_ it. She was leggy and curvy and absolutely fucking gorgeous, but she was holding tightly onto, who he assumed was, her mother's hand. And while she stood tall and straight, trying to keep her face void of any emotions, he could tell it was all for show, because her fidgeting gave away just how scared she was.

The hand that wasn't holding onto her mother for dear life, was stealthily trying to pull down at the skirt of her dress, as if she was uncomfortable at the amount of skin being shown.

He found it almost funny considering how they came to be in this situation to begin with.

He also noticed how her eyes hadn't even acknowledged his presence yet, darting everywhere in the room but to him.

He suddenly heard Vera laugh, pulling him back to the world.

"Oh, it's alright," Diana said as she walked up to the girl and- _Clarke_ , he corrected himself - Diana walked up to _Clarke_ and her mother.

"I was just telling Bellamy, how often this happens."

The sound of his name caused her to finally look at him, but only for a second as their eyes meet and she quickly dips her head down, blushing fiercely.

"And Wells, I didn't know you'd be here today."

Bellamy had forgotten about the rest of Clarke's entourage. He glanced over at the boy standing next to her. He was tall and well-muscled and Bellamy would assume he was just a friend – seeing as how Clarke is currently knocked-up by some kid in lockup - but with the way _this_ kid was staring daggers at him, he wasn't so sure.

After the pleasantries were finished, the room fell into an awkward silence.

"Well, I'm sure you two are eager to get started," Diana said before sauntering up the aisle, and taking her place in front of the last tree.

He glanced over at Clarke, and watched as mother and daughter came together, eyes locking – saying so much without uttering a single word. It was an extremely private moment and it tore open the aching hole in his chest, the hole that was made when his sister had been dragged away by his fellow guardsman and his mother had been sucked out of an airlock. He could feel his eyes begin to burn and his throat constrict, and he quickly turned away. This wasn't the time or the place.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he ran his hand down his face.

When he knew his emotions were under control, his eyes met Sydney's. She observed him with a look of pity and he quickly looked away. He didn't want her pity – didn't need it. Didn't need anyone except for Octavia. The thought set his mind back on track and turned to look back at Clarke. His own child bride, he thought with amusement.

She was hugging her friend now and the boy met his eyes with a glare.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. "You done yet, princess?" he grumbled. "'Cause I've got work in a few hours."

She whipped her head around, indignant surprise written across her face. The boy continued to glare, and Bellamy was just so _done_ with these privileged assholes. He didn't care about any of them, because they didn't matter. _This is only a means to an end._

Clarke gave her mother one last look before turning around, refusing to meet his eyes. When she finally stood next to him, their shoulder's a hairsbreadth apart, he swore he could feel the irritation coming off of her. He felt bad for a moment – she was only a girl, and this was her wedding – but then he remembered that _she_ got herself into this mess. He was doing her – and the Council – a favor.

Sydney smiled. "Are we ready?"

He saw her nod, resolutely, out of the corner of his eye, before giving his own.

"Then let's begin. You may take each other's hands."

Bellamy turned slowly and lifted his hands. He was afraid to look at her, afraid to see the dread and despair he knew would be looking back. But when their eyes met he was surprised to see not fear and unhappiness, but a fervent determination. She looked like she was prepared for war, and he had the sudden urge to laugh. He repressed it, settling for a smirk instead.

She frowned at him as she lay her hands within his. He watched as he wrapped his thumbs around, setting them across the back of her hands. Her skin was soft, but that was no surprise, instead what caught his attention, what seemed to make his body flush hot, was the difference in skin tone – she was so pale against his tan skin, translucent, blue veins trailing up the back of her hands. He could trace them, like a map, drawn along her soft body. He wanted to follow it, uncover whatever treasures she hid beneath her dress.

"Do you, Bellamy, take Clarke to be your lawful wedded wife?"

His eyes snapped to Sydney before quickly looking back at Clarke. He cleared his throat, glancing down at his boots. Married, he was in the process of getting married. "I do," he said, giving a slight nod.

"Do you, Clarke, take Bellamy to be your lawful wedded husband?"

She locked eyes with him, not saying anything, and even though the silence lasted only seconds, it felt like hours. He was caught off guard by an intense feeling of nervous apprehension, his jaw clenching and his body tensing, as he held firmly onto her small hands.

"I do."

Her tone was solid, unwavering, like her gaze that bore into him. He sighed inwardly at the rush of relief and he hated himself for it.

"These are the hands of your best friend," Sydney began, "young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day."

Bellamy felt Clarke's hands twitch as she continued staring into his eyes, meeting his gaze, almost daring him to look away first.

"These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as you build your future together. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other."

He swallowed hard as he met her challenging eyes. The space around them, feeling suddenly alive and uncomfortably hot – stifling his breath. He wondered if she could feel it too, and when saw her chest begin to rise with heavy, deep, breaths, and her nose flared, he knew she could.

"These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind, and will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes. These are the hands that will tenderly hold your child, and will help you to hold your family as one."

Her lips parted and she blinked rapidly as an emotion he couldn't place, flitted across her face. It made him want to take her into his arms, hold her head to his shoulder.

"These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it."

He gripped her hands gently, telling her with his hands what he knows he'd never say with his words. _It's okay. We'll be okay. We're in this together. We'll get through this together._

"And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch."

Her eyes were soft, and open, and clear, and the pretty pink flush in her cheeks was slowly traveling down her neck, making its way past the neckline of her dress. He eyes traveled back up to her mouth and he saw how her lips shined, almost begging for him to claim them with his own. And he wanted to, the urge was there, and when he saw her eyes take the same path along his face - down to his lips that were suddenly desperate to taste her - the blood seemed to catch fire within his body, heating him from within.

"Bellamy, you may now place the ring on Clarke's finger."

And just like that, his ardor was demolished as he was struck with panic. His eyes slowly went wide as he looked to Sydney.

"The ring?" she asked.

He licked his lips, trying to think of something on the spot. This marriage was a contract, an agreement between Clarke, himself, and the Council. He'd never thought about having to buy things to prepare for it. "Um, I don't" –Clarke's mother rushed to his side, grunting as she quickly worked her wedding ring from her finger.

"Mom," Clarke cried.

"It's okay," she said, gently. When the ring was free from her finger she held it out to him, her eyes glued to the simple band. Hesitantly, he reached for it, and her eyes flashed to his. The emotions he saw there burned him, overflowing with resentment and disapproval.

He knew who she was, knew she was on the Council. He'd recognized her when she came through the door.

The hostility was more than mutual.

He glowered at her as he took the ring, raising Clarke's left hand and brusquely trying to push it onto her finger. He heard her hiss and looked up, seeing her pinched expression. He gave her a look of apology, and left the ring where it was, resting tightly on her knuckle.

"We'll get it resized," he said, quietly, full of sympathy.

She shook her head, staring down at her hand. "I don't need one after this."

It was just jewelry, and this was only a marriage of convenience, but the thought of her not having one bothered Bellamy, more than he knew it should. He peered over at her "friend" who was watching their union with envy, and his blood began to boil. Clarke wasn't really his to claim, he knew, but she was his wife now, or would be in about five minutes, and he never liked sharing. So yeah, he was getting her a fucking ring.

Clarke turned to her mother, holding out her palm. The other woman placed another ring there, bigger and bulkier than the one they'd just tried squeezing onto her finger.

She took hold of his hand, raising it chest level, gently slipping the ring on his finger and past his knuckle. It was loose, but it would do.

"It's too big," she whispered, solemnly.

He stared at her fingers as they held his. She got him ring. Took time out of her day to trade something of hers, to get him a wedding ring.

The feeling of her fingers holding his, and the thought of her thinking of him before even meeting him, was making him feel things knew he shouldn't. He pulled his hand away from her, hanging it at his side, the band on his finger burning him. _This isn't real. She_ isn't _my family. She doesn't_ matter _. Only Octavia matters._

"It's fine," he grumbled, looking back to Sydney, not wanting to meet the disheartened gaze of the girl in front of him.

Bellamy caught Sydney's astute look, before she could replace it with a smile.

"Bellamy and Clarke, may all your days be blessed with love and friendship. And may each day and night of your lives be a new beginning.

"By the power vested in me by the Chancellor, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."

Bellamy turned to Clarke. He saw the trepidation cross her face and he hesitated. It was just a kiss. _A kiss that will seal this marriage._

He lifted his hand to her face and slowly moved forward. He noticed a sudden flash in her eyes, a flash of excitement and anticipation, and he quickly diverted his lips, bending his head, then saw her confusion before his lips tenderly met her smooth cheek.

They stood there, suspended in time for just a moment, his nose brushing her face and her breath rushing against his neck. He pulled away, and her eyes regarded him with confusion and embarrassment. He looked down quickly, unable to hide his contrition.

He was highly aware of the stares in the room. Stares that were directed at him.

Sydney cleared her throat. "Congratulations."

Bellamy turned to the clever woman and she gave him a knowing look.

Clarke's mother came up to them, hugging her daughter. "Congratulations," she whispered, sadly into the girl's ear.

Vera wrapped her arms around Bellamy. "Congratulations," she said with enthusiasm, and he couldn't help but smile at the woman.

He looked over at Clarke who was hugging her friend as her mother stood beside them, glaring at _him_.

She strode up to him, looking him in the eye. "We need to talk," she said, firmly, before walking away, disappearing behind a door.

Bellamy placed his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath, and trailed behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, fiiiine. Here's chapter 3. But I seriously need to go to bed after this lol. Sadly, the next updates wont be as quick, since this is all I have written. But more will come, I promise. I own a whole lot of nothing when it comes to The 100. Enjoy!**

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Bellamy stood with his arms crossed, watching the woman in front of him, awaiting the coming onslaught - which would probably be something about keeping his hands off her daughter.

She was turned away from him with her hands on her hips and her back straight. He realized that he didn't know her name. He'd heard Diana say it before the ceremony, but he'd been too preoccupied with seeing his wife for the first time to pay any attention.

His _wife_. He was _married_.

It went unsaid in his family, that this was something that would never happen – _could_ never happen. He had to protect Octavia. He couldn't allow anyone to get too close. And he didn't. After Octavia's birth, he kept mostly to himself. No more playing with the other kids in his class, or visiting friends' quarters – too afraid of letting the word 'sister' accidentally slip past his lips. But as he grew, he learned how to socialize with the people around him, while still keeping them at a distance. He became good at it too – smooth and glib in his words, while remaining apathetic in his actions.

"Friends" were kept at school and work, and "lovers," whatever empty room was closest.

Remembering that this marriage was only a marriage of convenience, he didn't see any reason to treat it any differently. Mixing emotions into it was pointless.

Finally, his _mother-in-law_ – that would have to take some getting used to – turned with a dour expression etched on her face.

He licked his lips. "So… do I call you mom, now?" he asked derisively, as he rolled his eyes.

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms before slowly striding toward him, crowding him with her body. He ignored the urge to step back, and instead steeled himself against her glare.

"I know why you're doing this," she said, accusingly.

He swallowed hard, as panic shot through him. But then he remembered that she was on the Council, so of course she would know. He suddenly wondered if she had anything to do with the situation her daughter was in now, but with the way she was scowling at him, he would guess not.

"Do you?" he asked, with a smirk. "And here I thought I was just doing you all a favor." He cocked his head. "Can't have polite society know that Councilwoman Griffin's teenage daughter got knocked up by a criminal."

She parted her lips, a look of shocked outrage crossing her face, and he knew he just made a huge mistake, but in the face of this imperious woman, he just didn't give a shit.

She dropped her arms to her sides, and her glare turned from ice-cold to blazing-hot as she curled her lips. His eyes glanced down at her fists as they clenched. "Don't you _ever_ talk about my daughter that way. And in case you've forgotten the last three minutes, that's also your _wife_ you're talking about," she spat.

He clenched his jaw and looked down, not wanting her to see the shame in his eyes.

"Not to mention, the deal you made with the Council – _and_ Clarke. This is _your_ baby now. And if you don't think you can see it that way, then this was a mistake that I will rectify right now."

He swallowed, trying to extinguish the self-disgust that was crawling up his throat, along with the fear that she would indeed carry out her threat.

" _Well_?" she asked, impatiently.

He met her eyes slowly and nodded his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He looked back down, not wanting to continue meeting her glare as he got a handle on the emotions swimming inside him.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before she broke it. "I know you must be… angry."

He looked at her in shock, and though still furious, her expression had softened some.

"About your mother and your sister," she clarified. "That's why you're doing this."

He furrowed his brows in confusion, but he didn't correct her, curious to see where she was going with this.

"But punishing my daughter, to punish the Council, is not the way to handle it."

That's why she thought he'd agreed to this, as a childish way to get revenge. Which would be the dumbest fucking plan ever since, except for the woman standing in front of him, he didn't think the Council cared one bit about what happened to Clarke Griffin. Which was why they were marrying her to him - a janitor from Factory – because it was convenient for _them_.

His eyes bored into her as he leaned closer, making sure his next point came across loud and clear. "I don't punish people for things beyond their control."

She blinked as she leaned away from him, and he watched as the anger drained from her face.

Then she simply said, "Good," before walking around him and out the door.

xxxxxxxxx

They walked in silence – Bellamy, to her left and little ahead, holding her small bag, leading her toward her new home. They didn't touch, didn't hold hands. If anyone were watching them, Clarke thought, they'd never guess the two of them were newlyweds – probably not even friends. Acquaintances, most likely. And that's exactly what they were – married acquaintances.

She peered over at her new husband. She truly hadn't known what to expect. She'd been terrified that he would be boorish or cruel. She'd been hoping that he'd be considerate and sympathetic.

She looked at the hard line of his jaw, and the dusting of freckles on his cheek.

He seemed to be placed somewhere in the middle, she thought.

He turned his head, and their eyes met before she quickly looked away, embarrassed at having gotten caught staring.

She heard him release a breath.

"I like it."

She turned to him with furrowed brows.

"The dress," he explained, glancing down at her figure quickly.

She looked down at the garment, running a hand down it, reveling at the softness. It really was amazing. Not something easily found. Usually something so frivolous would have been cut up, used, and recycled for more practical clothing. Someone must've held onto it for a long time, cherished it enough to keep it whole.

"And so does everyone else," he muttered, in an irritated tone.

She looked up, surprised by his sudden change in mood – though it seemed to be something that happened a lot with him, one minute kind and the next angry. But he was right, people were staring, just like they had done earlier as she made her way to her wedding.

She looked straight ahead, jaw firm.

 _Let them stare. It's not like I'll ever have a reason to wear this again, anyways._

She jumped slightly when she felt him place his hand lightly on her lower back. Her eyes went wide and her back, rigid. He gently rubbed his thumb, in what she assumed was supposed to be a soothing motion, but it didn't really work. Her heart was beating a mile a minute and her body was highly aware of the warmth from his hand that was seeping through her dress - which made her shiver, of all things.

But she refused to acknowledge it, this touch that was so… familiar and easy, like he did it everyday.

"We're almost there," he said, softly.

She nodded her head nonchalantly but relief flooded her body. She wasn't sure how much longer she could go without screaming, with all the thoughts and emotions that were currently rocketing around inside her.

They turned into a small hallway – claustrophobically small - with doors that she assumed led to people's quarters. The first thing she noticed was how close together they were – only a few feet between each door. Surely, that wasn't the size of the rooms, she thought. Then she noticed how… _unkempt_ it was, with peeling paint, dingy walls, and a grimy floor.

At the end of the hall, Bellamy stopped in front of a door that was labeled 'SEC 17, 20391'. He took his hand from her back, reaching out to grab the handle of the door. "Home sweet home," he sighed, as he pulled the handle.

The door opened with a low screech, and he stood off to the side, allowing her to enter. She stepped in slowly - tentatively. Her first thought was how happy she was that Bellamy stood behind her, because there was no way she could keep the misery from showing on her face.

It was a box. A metal box. Which sounded ridiculous, even to her, considering they were living in a giant metal space station. But this… this was shocking small. There was a small foyer, surprisingly, that entered into a square living room. In the center was a table and chairs, and to the right, a door – which she prayed led to a bathroom. She'd never heard anything about sections of the Ark having only communal bathrooms, but obviously there was a lot she didn't know about other stations.

She turned her head to the left, and instead of another set of doors that would lead to the bedrooms, she saw beds. They were inside the wall, two little alcoves just long enough to fit a mattress.

Her eyes went wide and they began filling with tears, as a feeling of hopeless despair filled her body.

They didn't even have bedrooms.

A lone tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.

"Clarke…" His voice was gentle. She'd forgotten he was even there, too caught up in just how different her life truly was now.

She sniffed loudly as she turned away from him. "It's just hormones," she said, with a slight shake of her head. She gave a short laugh that sounded fake, even to her. "I've been crying about everything the last few weeks." Silent tears she couldn't stop, were trailing down her cheeks now, and she licked her lips before biting her bottom one, trying to take control of the emotions swirling inside her.

He walked around her, setting her bag atop the nearest bed, then turned around. "You can have this one," he murmured, sheepishly. His jaw was locked as he stared at the floor between them.

She closed her eyes – the wet lashes sticking together - angry at herself. She'd embarrassed him, which was exactly what she hadn't wanted to do. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

His eyes snapped to hers, and she nearly flinched at the sharp bitterness she saw there. "No problem, princess," he sneered, "Sorry it's not a castle." He stomped around her and she turned around to watch him, anger flaring in her chest.

How could he not understand? How could he not comprehend how this was all unsettling and foreign to her? She was a stranger in a strange land, not to mention pregnant and essentially alone. She was afraid, and she had a fucking right to be upset about it!

She glared at his back as he opened a compartment in the wall, pulling out a long metal canister, and pouring the contents into a tin cup. She scoffed before turning to grab her bag off the bed, and strode into – what she really, really hoped was – the bathroom, _slamming_ the heavy door for good measure.

She leaned back against the door and sighed. She pressed her lips together, trying to stop the damn tears that were already building up again. But unlike before, these were tears of anger and frustration.

She didn't understand him. And she wasn't sure she really wanted to anymore. He was obviously too embittered and indignant to ever understand _her_ and what she was going through. She sniffed and slid down to the floor- and damn this floor was just as disgusting as the one outside their quarters. She hated it here, hated everything about it, but mostly she just hated him.

If he wanted to remain hateful and derisive towards her then fine. She didn't need him other than in the capacity in which the Council specified - which was just marriage. It would be in name only though and that was fine by her. They could go on about their lives as if the other didn't exist if that's what he wanted – all she cared about was this baby. It was all that mattered, and she wouldn't let it down.

Later, when she opened the door again – dress folded neatly back into her bag – the light was out. She vaguely remembered Bellamy saying something about having to work in a few hours, so she assumed he was in bed but she couldn't tell, the room was dark, and the space inside the alcoves was darker.

She quietly padded to her own bed, slipping in between the cool sheets. They were soft and smelled clean, but they were thin and she shivered beneath them. She laid there, eyes wide open and mind going a mile a minute – she wasn't tired, it was only four thirty, but what else was she going to do in the dark except try and sleep. She thought about perhaps leaving, taking a walk around Factory. But just the thought of trying to learn and navigate the maze that was her new home, while essentially being reminded around every corner of how it was lacking compared to Alpha, exhausted her.

She sighed, then suddenly wondered if he heard it – if he was awake. It was strange sharing a room with someone, being aware of another's presence in the dark silence. It was almost… intimate. He was so close, just on the other side of the thin metal wall at her feet, yet he was so very far away.

She rested her hand on her belly, rubbing her thumb across it lightly. What would happen when the baby came, she worried. How would he treat it? The question suddenly terrified her. Bellamy seemed irritable and crabby, perhaps even sometimes belligerent, but he didn't seem cruel. He wouldn't treat an innocent child unkindly, would he?

She yawned, trying her best to keep it silent. Her eyes felt heavy and she realized the chaos of the day, and probably just lying in a dark room, was catching up to her. She closed her eyes, giving into the darkness.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke opened her eyes slowly, blinking drowsily in the low light. At first she was confused, not recognizing her surroundings, but then she remembered. She was _married_ \- to the crabbiest man on the Ark.

She looked down and saw that the light wasn't coming from the room but from the lamp on the table. It was dim compared to the room light and it wasn't near bright enough to light every corner. It created shadows and dark spots, and for a moment it scared her. Like when she was a child and use to run into her parents room, babbling of hidden monsters. Her mother would sigh, running her hand down Clarke's hair, telling her there was no such thing, and her father would kiss her cheek and scoop her up, carrying her back into her bed while checking every nook and cranny of her room for ghosts and boogie men.

She was alone now. She no longer had her mother's logical mind or her father's caring humor. Who would help her fight her monsters?

Just then the bathroom door opened, and the harsh light from within made her snap her eyes shut before it was quickly switched off. When she opened her eyes again she saw Bellamy… a lot of Bellamy. He had obviously just finished in the shower, as his hair was wet and smoothed back from his forehead, while droplets of water slid down his smooth chest and back, disappearing beneath the towel he had wrapped around his waist.

She swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly dry. She'd seen plenty of naked men in her time training as a doctor – and her one night with Finn – but none of those naked men made her feel anywhere close to what this half naked man was making her feel right now. Standing in the half light, the shadows playing against the muscles of his back and the creamy skin of his chest, he almost looked otherworldly.

She licked her lips, thinking about having them travel down his chest to his flat stomach. It looked hard, and she wondered what it would feel like against her soft belly. She felt the throbbing between her legs, and the frustration within her intensified as she realized that this was her _husband_ she was fantasizing about, and in any other circumstance that wouldn't be abnormal, in any other circumstance she could leave her bed, wrap her hands around his middle, and lay her head on his back. But theirs wasn't like any other circumstance, and all of that would be inappropriate.

He hated her, and she… Well now that it was a new day – what the hell time was it anyway? – she wasn't filled with the same rage that she had been the day before, and she just didn't know _what_ she felt about him. He wasn't a bad man, that much was obvious, but could he ever see her as anything other than the Princess from Alpha who ruined his life?

And what kind of life had she ruined for him, she wondered. She realized that she had no idea _who_ he was, or _who_ he'd been before her. And lying here right now, watching him as he gathered his clothes for the day, she suddenly wanted to know… everything.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy cracked his neck and stretched his back as he wheeled his cart down the hall. He'd just finished his eight hour shift, cleaning up section four of Arrow. He liked that station. It was usually well maintained and the people there didn't seem to be complete pigs.

He unlocked the maintenance closet, pushing his cart inside and began putting away his things. He was tired, and he was hungry, and he was really just looking forward to going home. A shadow fell over him, making him look around. Ronan Cavanaugh leaned against the doorframe, smirking his usual fucking smirk.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and looked away. He really did not feel like dealing with this asshole right now.

"What the hell do you want?" Bellamy asked.

Cavanaugh lifted his hands in surrender. "Whoa, Bellamy. I come in peace," the man snickered and Bellamy's nerves frayed just a little bit more. "I was stopping by to see how you were holding up? Janitorial is not easy, I know."

Bellamy rolled his eyes again and shook his head. "Yeah, you already told me that story. You were a janitor and now you're not anymore, thanks to Nygel." Nygel was a woman who could get you just about anything on the Ark, she called herself a business woman, but Bellamy knew she was dangerous. He turned and glared at the other man. "My answer's still no."

Cavanaugh tilted his head. "C'mon now Bellamy. I heard you were _good_ in the guard. You're not meant to be cleaning up shit and picking up trash. Nygel could use someone like you."

Bellamy nodded his head, not really listening anymore, he'd heard this speech many times already. "No."

Cavanaugh shook his head with his ever present smirk, taking a step closer. "But, you see, that's not the answer I really want to take back to Nygel."

"That's not my problem," Bellamy said with his brows raised.

The man snickered again. "Well, I'll give you some more time to think about it then," he said lightly. He made to turn away before quickly turning back around. "Oh, by the way, I hear you're a married man now."

Bellamy's entire body tightened like a spring.

"I hear she's from Alpha." He chuckled darkly. "Pretty too."

Bellamy was breathing deeply through his nose, trying desperately to keep himself under control.

Cavanaugh furrowed his brows. "I wonder how that happened. How'd you get so lucky, hmm?"

Bellamy stalked up to him, crowding him against the wall. "She's none of your damn business," he growled.

Cavanaugh smirked again. "Hey, maybe _she_ can convince you to come work for Nygel?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Bellamy grabbed the front of Cavanaugh's shirt, slamming him up against the wall. "Stay the fuck _away_ from her," he hissed in the man's face.

Cavanaugh chuckled. "Whoa, Blake relax. I'm not trying to step on your turf. I just want you to rethink your answer."

Bellamy tightened his hands in Cavanaugh's shirt pushing him harder against the wall. "I said, _no_ ," he growled.

Cavanaugh grinned, putting his hands up once again. "Well okay then. I'll tell the boss lady."

Bellamy glared into his eyes for a moment longer before releasing him. The man broke away from the wall he'd been plastered against, still grinning as he walked away. And Bellamy watched him go, unease building inside of him.

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke pushed her trunk up against the wall, trying to move it out of the middle of the floor. Abby and Wells had just left after having dropped off the rest of her things from home. She was hoping if she had more of her stuff, maybe _this_ would begin feeling like her home – her _real_ home - because it was now whether she liked it or not.

While helping her to make her bed – with her own sheets – Abby had suddenly taken her hand, halting her in her movements. Her mother looked back at Wells, making sure the boy was busy before turning back to Clarke.

"Did he hurt you?"

Clarke furrowed her brows, not knowing what the hell her mother was talking about at first.

"Bellamy," she clarified, softly.

Clarke took a quick breath before quickly shaking her head. "No."

Abby had nodded her head with a small smile. "You'll come to me if he does? You're not alone."

Clarke returned a small smile of her own. "Yeah."

She didn't know what her mother had been thinking exactly. At first she assumed Abby had meant in a sexual way – it _was_ the day after their wedding. But thinking now about how Abby's eyes bored into her, when she asked the question, Clarke thought that maybe there was more to it than that.

She looked over as the door squeaked – yeah, she was going to have to get that fixed if she didn't want to go insane – and Bellamy walked in with a dark expression clouding his face – what was new.

"Hey," she said, in a friendly tone. Hoping that today would go a little better than yesterday.

"Hey," he mumbled. As he came into the living room, he noticed her trunk and other knickknacks around the room. "What's all this," he grumbled.

Clarke looked around the room. It really did look much better. Lived in, she thought. "My things," she said, with a smile.

Bellamy sighed as he laid his jacket on the back of the nearest chair, and walked over to the back wall. "How many things do you need, Princess?"

Clarke furrowed her brows. Apparently he wasn't in any better mood than yesterday. She pressed her lips together before glaring at his back. "This is my home as much as it is yours," she said, her tone hard. She needed to be strong against him. She refused to be bullied, and now was as good a time as any for him to understand that.

He turned around to look at her. She was actually surprised to see that he didn't look angry, or even irritated – just exhausted. So she softened her words. "I promise to stay out of your way, if you stay out of mine."

He looked down between them and nodded his head minutely, as if he hadn't even heard her. She furrowed her brows and tilted her head. He was acting strangely. Not that she really knew him well enough to judge when he wasn't acting normal, but still, he seemed… out of sorts

"Are you alright?" she asked, timidly.

He took a quick breath, looking back up to her. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said as he turned back around, pulling out a small bag of rations.

She'd seen inside their rations compartment when she'd been looking around earlier – she refused to call it snooping since these _were_ her quarters now. The compartment was nearly empty, and she realized that she, too, was hungry.

She cleared her throat. "We could go to the cafeteria, if you wan-"

He turned suddenly with his eyes wide, a look of alarm across his handsome features. "No!"

She flinched and blinked.

She watched in confusion as he forced his face to relax, licking his lips, and rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, I don't have work tonight so, I'll get us more rations tomorrow." He cleared his throat and met her eyes. "Just… you don't have to go to the cafeteria."

He looked worried that she would argue. She would've – he didn't have any right to tell her where she could and couldn't go – but he didn't seem to be denying her just to be an asshole, he seemed genuinely apprehensive about her going to the cafeteria. So she nodded her head, and that seemed to calm the fearful look on his face a little bit.

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "But I want to go with you."

He furrowed his brows.

"To get rations," she explained.

He grinned as he popped a rations cube in his mouth, slowly chewing on it before answering. "I thought you decided we were staying out of each other's way, princess."

She rolled her eyes walked up beside him, pulling out her own bag. "I don't know where anything is, and you're the only person I know here." She shrugged her shoulders. "So, I may need you as a tour guide for a little while." She opened her bag and began eating.

He chuckled beside her, and the sound was so different than anything she'd ever heard from him before - playful. It made her stomach twist with… she wasn't sure what, but she suddenly remembered watching him earlier, wet and half naked, and her body began burning at the memory.

She looked at him timidly, and her hot eyes caught his happy ones. A part of her wanted to turn away in embarrassment, like all the other times, but she didn't. And she watched as his grin slowly disappeared, and his own eyes began to smolder. He glanced down at her lips before coming back up to her eyes, and she desperately wanted him to kiss her. But then he blinked, turning his head and abruptly pulling away from the wall.

"Yeah." He audibly swallowed before pulling clothes out of a compartment. "I'll show you around tomorrow. Help you get your bearings." He stood still after, like he wanted to say something, but then he only sighed before walking into the bathroom.

She sighed as well, dropping her head back against the wall. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She hardly knew this man – even if he was her husband – and she _wanted_ him. She'd never felt this way around anyone else, not even Finn – not that she'd known _him_ any better. But this was new and it was scary and dammit… she was just going to chalk it up to hormones. Yeah, that's what it was – hormones.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy laid in bed, his mind and body all too aware of the beautiful blonde who lay only inches away. He could hear her breathing and he knew she wasn't asleep yet – they'd just gone to bed only moments before – and he thought about what she'd said earlier, about how he was the only person she knew in Factory, and he felt suddenly aware of the fact that she was utterly alone here. She was sixteen, pregnant, and alone.

He took a breath, slowly releasing it. He remembered Cavanaugh, and how he'd threatened her. Threatened her because of _him_. He lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair. As much as he wanted to distance himself from this girl, he couldn't now. He had put her in danger the moment he married her and now she was his responsibility. Her _life_ was his responsibility.

Just like Octavia and his mother.

But he wouldn't fail this time.

"Clarke?" he whispered, into the dark room.

There was only silence for a long moment and he thought that maybe she actually had fallen asleep.

"Yeah?" Her voice was soft and quiet, but she didn't sound like she'd been asleep.

"What's your mother's name?"

It was quiet for a long time before finally, she answered, "Abby. Her name is Abby."


	4. Chapter 4

They'd been meandering around Factory for the last hour, Bellamy showing her the important places and the fastest ways to get there. She seemed interested in learning about her new home as he pointed things out, but he could tell it was mostly out of politeness with her tight smile and small nods. At least it was better than tears, he thought.

When he'd taken her to the clinic, she took it upon herself to introduce herself to the staff that she'd soon be working with. She shook hands with Factory's one and only doctor, Dr. Nolan. At eighty-three, Dr. Nolan was one of the oldest people on the Ark.

"Well, sweetheart, your mother tells me you're as bright as can be, so I'm very glad you're here." Dr. Nolan raised his hand, tapping his finger against his temple. "This old mind isn't as sharp as it used to be."

Clarke gave him a small smile. "I'm… glad I can help."

The doctor nodded, "If there's anything you need, you just say the word."

After the clinic, they continued on their tour, walking along, shoulder's brushing. Bellamy wondered why she hadn't mentioned the baby. Surely Dr. Nolan would have to be told eventually.

"You didn't tell him you were pregnant."

Clarke turned to him in surprise and their eyes met. "No. I just…" He watched as she clenched her hands, eyes snapping forward again. "I thought it would be better to go to my mother."

Bellamy frowned. "Dr. Nolan's a good doctor."

"I'm sure he is," she said, quickly, setting her hand placatingly on his arm.

Her touch burned through his thin shirt, and he was lost in the feeling of it for a moment, staring down at her small hand.

"It's just…" she shook her head, looking for the right words. "I think my mom would like to be involved, that's all."

Bellamy swallowed as he nodded his head. He was sure Abby Griffin was a great doctor, and just by their short conversation the other day, he knew she loved her daughter and would want to be involved every step of the way, but he also knew none of that was the real reasoning behind Clarke's choice of doctor.

"I'm sure your mom would like that," he grumbled.

He saw the quiet look she gave him, out of the corner of his eye, and guilt crept into his chest. It was like every time things were going well between them, he had to find a way to screw it up by being an ass.

He released a breath, rolling his eyes at himself. "Is there anywhere else you think you might need to know about?"

She looked around the hall, at the people walking by. "Where are classes held?"

Bellamy knitted his brow. "What do you need to know that for?"

She smiled at him sweetly, and he was bowled over by how genuine it was – nothing at all like the tight, phony smiles she'd been giving him all day. He liked her smile, liked making her smile, even if he wasn't sure why – even if he knew he shouldn't.

"So I know where to go tomorrow morning," she explained, humor swimming in her blue eyes.

"You have classes?" Then it suddenly hit him. Of course she'd have class, she was only sixteen. Once again he was reminded of just how young she was – barely older than Octavia. Octavia, who was alone in the Sky Box this very minute.

He couldn't do anything to help his sister – not immediately – but he could help Clarke, even if it was just to show her around her new home.

She laughed softly, watching him as he finally understood. "I don't have a lot left. Only, Earth Skills," she said, scrunching up her nose, "and Ancient History."

Bellamy's eyes turned to her quickly with surprise, not only because the latter subject happened to be one he was actually knowledgeable in, but because both subjects are ones that she should've taken years ago.

She must've seen the look on his face, interpreting it correctly. "I know," she said, with embarrassment. "I hate them. Pushed them off as long as I could." She sighed. "Now they're holding me back."

He clenched his jaw at her words, looking down at the floor. Her classes weren't the only things holding her back. Being here, in Factory – no longer the girl from Alpha with as many opportunities as one could have in the middle of space – was really what held her back, keeping her from whatever dreams she might've had. He supposed it wouldn't have really been such a big deal if she hadn't been so full of ambition and – from what little he's heard – actual skill.

She realized what she said as soon as she said it, her face turning red. There was an uncomfortable silence as they continued to walk down the hall. "Bellamy," she began.

But he shook his head, taking a deep breath. "C'mon, classes are this way."

He noticed her slower gait and drooped shoulders.

Would they ever be able to get this right, he wondered. Would they ever stop hurting each other?

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke sat, bent over slightly, taking notes on her tablet. Ancient History was long, and arduous, and just… really boring. She sighed as the teacher's monotonous voice dragged on. She looked around the room, to see if the rest of the class was as bored to tears as she was.

To her right was a boy who was lying face down on his arms. She couldn't make out any of his features through the shaggy brown hair laid out around him. She knew someone else who had hair like that, and for a second, her heart stopped in her chest, thinking that perhaps it was him. But it couldn't be, the rational part of her brain reasoned, Finn was in Lockup, and there was no getting out of there until your review at eighteen.

She thought about Finn's long dark hair and his sweet boyish face. And he was sweet, and kind, and seemed like a genuinely good guy. So much so, that within thirty minutes of meeting him, she began blurting out everything. Her father's execution, for reasons she still didn't know about, her inability to deal with it, and the loneliness she felt because of it. How sometimes she felt like she couldn't breathe from the pain of his loss.

She'd cried on his shoulder as he held the back of her head, this boy that she'd only just met, this boy that'd seemed so nice, so sincere. And then she took the comfort he was offering and ended up giving him everything in return.

After finding out that she was pregnant, Abby tried to find him. Clarke was terrified he would reject her, tell her it wasn't his, but then she'd remembered his easy smile and soft words, and she knew she had nothing to fear. But then came the surprising news of his lockup. She'd been stunned, terrified, distraught at just how much her world seemed to be falling apart.

She could feel the tears as they began to sting her eyes and she quickly rubbed them away. Damn hormones.

She licked her lips and looked away from the sleeping boy. In front of her was a small girl, Clarke couldn't tell her age but she seemed young. In a class where Clarke was surely the oldest person there, this girl seemed even younger than the rest. Curious, she looked over the girl's shoulder, and saw that she was drawing butterflies, and they were good. She could use some guidance, Clarke thought, but she was definitely talented.

Clarke watched, mesmerized by the girl's pencil strokes. She ached to do the same, create something on paper – or any surface, really. It'd been a long time since she'd drawn anything, and she suddenly missed it with a passion.

When they were finally released from class, Clarke stood from her seat, stopping next to the young girl. She looked up at Clarke, her brown eyes filled with alarm.

Clarke gave her a gentle smile. "Hi."

The girl grasped her pencil hard. "Hi," she mumbled back.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before Clarke pointed out the girl's drawings. "That's really good."

The girl looked at her paper then shrugged her shoulders. "They're okay, I guess."

Clarke squatted down and the girl watched her as she studied the drawings. "I like this one best," Clarke announced, tapping a finger on one of the butterflies.

The girl smiled shyly. "That's the large blue."

Her smile was just about the sweetest thing Clarke had ever seen. She held out her hand. "I'm Clarke."

The girl hesitated. "Charlotte," she finally said, taking hold of Clarke's hand.

Clarke raised her brows, giving the girl a mischievous smile. "Charlotte, do you want to see something cool?"

xxxxxxxxx

Clarke's heart felt light as she watched Charlotte run her fingers reverently across the colored pencils. She didn't have many, all of them hand-me-downs from the exchange, but they were one of her prized possessions. "Now your large blue, can be blue."

Charlotte looked up with wide eyes. "I can use them?" she asked, hesitantly.

Clarke nodded, and the girl gave her a smile, before it suddenly disappeared.

Clarke tilted her head with worry. "What's wrong?" Clarke hoped she hadn't offended her, if Charlotte were anything like Bellamy, she might take Clarke's act of kindness and think of it as pity, which is not at all what this was about.

Charlotte's eyes swept back and forth slowly, along the row of colors. "These are yours," she finally said. "I don't want to use them all up."

Drawing utensils weren't exactly plentiful in space, and she knew most would eventually run out, but to deny someone the chance to use them, simply because they wouldn't last forever, was so wrong it almost physically hurt. Clarke knelt beside her, placing a hand on the girl's back. "They're supposed to be used. And I'd like nothing more than to share them with someone who would enjoy using them as much as I do."

Charlotte gave her a wary look. "Are you sure."

"Absolutely."

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy sighed as he dragged his feet to his quarters. He'd just spent the last few hours cleaning the mess of a backed up pipe. Maintenance still hadn't fixed whatever the problem was, so chances were good that in a few hours he'd be cleaning up more shit.

He turned the handle, opening the door. What he heard made him freeze as his chest burned at the memories that assaulted him.

Giggling. It had once been a sound he'd come home to all the time.

He slipped through the door, mindful not to open it too far, lest the screech heard 'round the world disturb whatever was happening in his quarters.

His heart squeezed in his chest, and his throat became tight with the pent up emotions he kept inside. For a moment he saw them, Octavia and his mother at the table, heads bent towards each other, smiling and laughing. As if they'd never really left. But he guessed they hadn't, not really, not while he couldn't seem to go five minutes without thinking about them.

Then the vision faded away and he was watching two very different girls, with much lighter hair, laughing and talking, like living memories.

He couldn't see Clarke's face, but he could hear the happiness in her voice. He didn't think he'd ever heard her sound so… carefree, and the near painful feeling in his chest intensified. The girl sitting to her right was a stranger. She was young, far younger than Clarke, and Bellamy wondered how she knew her.

The girl turned, and her happy countenance fell with worry when she noticed him. Clarke must've seen the girl's face, immediately turning around.

"Oh, Bellamy," she chuckled.

This was definitely a different Clarke, he thought.

"I didn't even hear you come in."

He licked his lips. "I was quiet." His eyes found the young girl's again, and she quickly looked down. This wasn't a girl Clarke knew from Alpha, he could tell just by her demeanor that she was from Factory.

Clarke noticed the awkward exchange. "Um, this is Charlotte," she introduced. "She's in my Ancient History class. And this is Bellamy, my- he's my husband."

He caught her little stutter, even if she was quick to correct it, but still his heart raced when he heard her introduce him as her husband.

He was a husband – he was her husband. He knew they were married, but it felt different announcing it to another person. It felt real.

Her hair was up in its normal braid and his eyes traced the line of her jaw and down her exposed neck. Her clothes were conservative, as they always were, so he learned to appreciate the skin that she did show – which usually wasn't much. Except in the morning, he thought, which was fast becoming his favorite time of day.

He'd sit on the edge of his bed, watching her as she shuffled around their quarters, eyes bleary and blonde hair still mussed from sleep. He couldn't help but grin when she mumbled to herself or cursed softly whenever she stumbled over her own sleepy feet. The shorts she slept in left her long legs bare, making his fingers itch to take hold of her soft thighs. Squeeze the pliable flesh until her eyes flared with heat and her breath caught in her throat.

Their eyes met from across the room, and her lips parted with surprise at his hungry gaze. He watched as her breathing became shallow and-

"You're married?"

Clarke quickly turned away from him, facing forward once again. "Um, yeah."

"But you don't look old enough. You're still taking classes," Charlotte said, with raised brows.

Bellamy came into the room then, setting his bag on the table, careful not set it atop their work. His stomach clench when he looked up, noticing Clarke's flushed cheeks.

"Yeah," she huffed with laughter.

It seemed to be the only word she was capable of saying, and he couldn't help but smirk at his suddenly bashful, tongue-tied wife. But he decided to do the honorable thing and save her from her embarrassment. "It's nice to meet you, Charlotte."

The girl gave him a small embarrassed smile of her own, and chuckled at these two girls sitting next to each other with red faces. He realized how light he felt, even after hours of an awful shift, he was actually content – something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He cleared his throat, trying to stop the pain of what he'd lost from coming over him once again, he didn't want to lose this yet. "It's getting late. Where do you live?"

"Section 15," Charlotte answered, timidly.

Bellamy nodded. "Let me wash up a little, and I'll walk you home."

"I can do that," Clarke said, quickly.

Bellamy snickered, leaning down to her ear, wanting to feel if that blush was just as warm as it looked. "I'm afraid you wouldn't know your way back home, princess," he whispered.

She turned to look at him slowly, her angry eyes glaring at his smug face.

"I'll be right back," he snickered.

He looked up from the sink and into the flaking mirror, as he washed the grime from his hands and beneath his nails. He was still smiling, and he couldn't stop. He didn't want it to disappear, this easygoing happiness that had suddenly formed between them. But he could still feel the disquiet in the back of his mind, reminding him of what he already knew, happiness never lasts for long.

xxxxxxxxx

Bellamy sat with his hands clasped in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. He stared down at his linked fingers without really seeing them, subconsciously tapping his feet to a rhythm only they seemed to know.

His heart beat fast in his ribcage while his stomach twisted with nerves. Or excitement. Or both. He wasn't really sure. He wasn't really sure why he was feeling like this at all to be honest, but when Clarke had told him of her first doctor's appointment, he'd felt an overwhelming urge to go. Then he'd found out that they'd be able to find out the baby's sex, and no matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't stop the excitement from bubbling up from inside his chest.

He wasn't supposed to be excited. He was supposed to be worried. About Octavia. Octavia was all that mattered. But this baby was really happening – and it also mattered. This baby – this person – was going to come, sooner or later, and it would need a father. Which is exactly what he'd agreed to be when he'd made this deal with the Council, but… he hadn't been thinking about the baby or the marriage. He'd been thinking about Octavia and how he could save her. And this would save her, he reasoned. What he was doing would save his sister's life. But at the same time, things were becoming more complicated than just that.

This wasn't just about Octavia anymore.

He released a breath of frustration as he sat back in his chair. The waiting room was full, though it was much bigger than the one inside Factory clinic. He looked around, noticing a few of the people eyeing him and his dirty coveralls.

He was surprised to find that it didn't make him angry. He didn't care at all about these people or what they thought of him. All he cared about was waiting for Clarke to come back out, so he could ask her about the baby.

Their baby.

He was having a baby. Well, Clarke was having a baby. But he would be a father, which was something that, until recently, he would never even let himself think about, because it'd been something he knew he could never have. And now he would – and he was terrified.

xxxxxxxxx

"Do you want to know what it is?" Abby asked.

They'd discussed it last night, she and Bellamy, lying in their respective beds, talking softly in the dark about her doctor's visit the next day. She'd told him that he didn't have to come, she was going to be with her mother after all, but he'd insisted.

Then, when she'd told him that they'd probably be able to learn the sex, but only if they wanted, he'd immediately referred to her. Whatever she wanted to do was fine by him, he'd said. But she could hear the eagerness in his voice. He wanted to know, and the thought made her smile.

He'd been like that all week, less broody, more understanding, more wanting to be involved. She wasn't sure where it was coming from, but she almost didn't care. All she knew was she lived for those small moments that took her breath away – when he'd lean in close, reading her homework over her shoulder, making her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her ribcage, or when he'd place his hand lightly on the small of her back as they maneuvered around each other in their small bathroom, causing her body to heat up so quickly, she was sure he'd set her on fire.

She wanted him to. Wanted him to want this – want _her_. But except for a few heated glances and even fewer teasing grins, he never showed any interest in her at all, in that way. Was it her age, she wondered. Or maybe, it was because they were being forced to be with each other, she knew he was the type of person that would fight against his own desire if he thought he was fighting the Council's wishes.

What really worried her was what if it wasn't either of those things, what if he just didn't want her. He was a healthy, handsome, twenty-two year old man, if he didn't want _her_ , he would get what he needed somewhere else. And it made her nauseous. Though it seemed like everything was making her nauseous recently, but the thought of not being enough for him definitely hurt.

It was the only thing she was able to think about as they'd made their way to medical station, eating away any of the excitement that she'd felt the day before. He'd seemed to notice her peculiar mood, eyeing her the whole way, finally asking her if she was okay right before she left him in the waiting room. She felt bad. He was obviously trying, and now _she_ wasn't, because every time she looked at his face her stomach clenched in jealousy.

"Clarke?"

She blinked, looking at her mother. "Sorry."

Abby only smiled, placing her hands in her coat pockets. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Clarke said, quickly, hoping her mother would get the hint.

Abby nodded her head, giving her a skeptical look.

Nope.

"I'm fine," she repeated. The last thing she wanted to talk to her mother about was her recent, uncontrollable jealousy at the thought of her husband sleeping with another woman.

Abby raised her brows. "And how is… everything else?"

Clarke rolled her eyes. Subtle, her mother was not. "If you're referring to my forced marriage, it's just fine."

Abby watched her with pursed lips, then shrugged her shoulders. "So everything is just fine?"

Clarke could feel the tears building up behind her eyes. She couldn't meet Abby's gaze, too worried that she would fall apart. "Yep."

She heard her mother sigh. "Clarke-"

"Just let it go, okay." she snapped.

They were quiet a moment as Abby turned to sit in the nearby chair, just looking up at Clarke as she sat on the exam table.

"I'm sorry I haven't come to see you in a while," she finally said.

Clarke looked up. "Mom, it's only been a few days."

"I know. But that's not an excuse. You obviously need me, and I haven't been there."

Clarke shook her head, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. "That's not it, at all."

Abby rolled her chair closer to her daughter, setting her hands on Clarke's knees. "Then tell me, what is wrong."

She wasn't even sure what to say, or how to say it. "It's just… Bellamy," she mumbled.

She felt Abby's hands tighten on her legs. "Did he hurt you?"

Clarke huffed, leaning away from her mother. "No," she groaned, in irritation.

Abby looked at her imploringly. "Then talk to me. I can't fix this for you unless I know what's going on."

Shame made its way through Clarke's chest as she stared at her mother. That's what their relationship was, wasn't it. Clarke had a problem, and Abby always fixed it – or tried to anyway. She pressed her lips together tightly. She wasn't a child anymore. She was married, she was going to be a mother. Her life was her own now, and she had to start dealing with it as such.

Abby's grip tightened again. "Do you need me to talk to him?"

Clarke shook her head, calmly. "No. _I_ need to talk to him."

Abby looked at her sadly, before nodding.

They sat in silence, mother and daughter trying to come to terms with this new relationship they now had.

Abby smiled up at her. "Do you want to know what it is?"

Clarke's worries melted away, even if only for a moment. "Yeah, I do."


	5. Chapter 5

**I cannot even tell you how sorry I am for how late this is, but I hope this chapter was worth the wait. And thank you to everyone who reviewed or bookmarked, you guys are the best :)**

 **Enjoy!**

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"This is stupid."

Clarke turned to him in surprise, trying to suppress the laughter that was bubbling up in her chest at the broody look on his face. She was becoming use to his bouts of sullenness, noticing that it seemed to mark his mood the most after returning home from work.

But the more time she spent with him the more she began to see the real man beneath; the lighthearted, playful man who spoke passionately about the ideologies of ancient leaders, whose most prized possessions was the small stack of books he kept neatly beside his bed, and who could make her heart hammer in her chest with one of his rare smiles.

She wondered what had happened that buried him so deep beneath his bitter attitude and lonely existence. Sometimes it even seemed as if he felt guilty for the times he _was_ happy.

She bumped his shoulder playfully with her own as they walked down the long hall. "It won't be so bad. I'll be with you the whole time," she teased, making him scoff as he looked away. "You might see a friend there."

"I don't have friends," he grumbled.

She ignored his grumpy retort, wrapping her hand around his arm as she leaned in close. "And we can _dance_."

He continued in his steady stride, not missing a step as he walked along beside her, but still she saw it as a faraway look of pain crossed his handsome face, shadows forming behind the dark pools of his eyes.

He swallowed thickly, eyelids fluttering against what appeared to be an unhappy memory. "I don't dance," he said, voice rough and heavy with emotion.

They continued on in an uneasy silence, neither of them speaking again until arriving at their destination.

Stepping into the large space that had been set for the party, they stood side by side, nervously eyeing the small groups talking and laughing together.

Simultaneously, they turned to each other, an unspoken agreement passing between them; find the nearest table and sit out the awkwardness of being the only two people who don't belong.

Bellamy set his hand on her back, guiding her through the crowd. He scanned the party goers apprehensively as he pulled out her chair before seating himself. His eyes bounced from face to face, recognizing a few people here and there. Parties weren't his thing, never had been. He'd had Octavia to worry about, and people with secrets to hide did not mingle at parties.

So when Clarke had told him about her friend at the clinic who'd invited them to her birthday "get-together" he'd immediately said no. Then he watched as her excited eyes dimmed and her face fell in disappointment before she blinked and lifted her chin resolutely, declaring she would go on her own.

They'd barely spoken the rest of that night, her anger at him more than obvious. When they'd gone to bed her silent-treatment found him even through the pitch black of the room, and he clenched his jaw against the myriad of feelings it caused within him.

At some point he could no longer take it, not wanting to spend another day without her, all while right beside her.

He'd never realized how isolated he was until she was in his life. And now that he had her, he didn't want to give her up – even if it was only to her anger.

He tried to ignore the sting of guilt for feeling that way while his little sister sat alone in the Sky Box.

"Fine, I'll go," he'd said quickly, his husky voice shattering the quiet that filled the dark room.

At first there was no response, her silence continuing to smother him. Was she really so upset that she would ignore him even after he conceded? He felt a pull at his chest as he worried over just how much he may have hurt her.

"You don't have to go, Bellamy," she finally said with an apologetic tone.

The loneliness that had begun to weigh on his heart and mind, eased just a bit.

"It's not that big of a deal. I just… I just wanted to feel normal." He heard her sigh softly to herself and he knew she was rolling her eyes. "But you don't have to be there. I'm sorry. I've just… I don't know what I- I-"

He had no idea what the hell she was struggling so hard to say with her stilted, self-conscious explanation, but he felt an immediate need to soothe her. "Clarke," he interrupted, "it's okay. I don't mind going." He inhaled deeply, releasing it slowly as he listened to the rustling of her sheets. "It's okay," he repeated.

It was a forgiveness of sorts to the cold shoulder she'd given him. He couldn't stay angry with her when it was clear something more was going on, something that she was trying hard to tell him but for whatever reason couldn't. It worried him that she felt that way, that she felt like she couldn't talk to him about what it was that bothered her so much it made her unable to speak her mind. And if there was one thing Bellamy knew about Clarke Griffin, it was that she usually had no problem telling him exactly what she thought.

"Alright," she finally whispered, the warmth of her soft voice traveling through the cold hush of the space between them, pacifying his worries for the moment.

A raucous laugh pulled him back in the moment and he observed his wife as she sat beside him, her eyes darting timidly around the crowd. "Clarke…" he began, but was unsure how to continue. He wanted her to know she could trust him, share her burdens with him. She didn't have to be alone. He knew what that felt like, and he didn't want that for her. Not when he was willing to be there – willing to listen.

She turned to him and her blue eyes swallowed him whole, making his heart squeeze in his chest. They were so similar to Octavia's, though perhaps slightly lighter in shade. He hoped his sister had someone – a friend or confidant whom she could talk to. Someone she could trust with her feelings. Someone to help _her_ feel not so alone.

"Clarke," he started again, "if you need-"

" _Clarke_ ," called a cheerful voice through the crowd.

She spun away at the sound of her name, and Bellamy rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was hard enough having to be the one to bring up feelings and communication without being interrupted while trying to do it. Maybe a party wasn't the best place to be having a heart-to-heart, he thought caustically.

A young woman, who seemed to be about his own age, broke through the crowd. She carried a drink in her hand, the contents of which sloshed over the edge with her sloppy movements, and she had a toothy smile on her face that was so wide it looked painful. The birthday girl, Bellamy assumed.

Clarke stood, exchanging pleasantries with the, what already appeared to be, slightly inebriated woman.

"I'm so happy you _came_ ," the woman gushed, immediately wrapping her arms around Clarke.

" _Oh,_ " Clarke squeaked with surprise, patting the woman's back awkwardly, "okay."

Bellamy chuckled.

After what seemed like an uncomfortably long hug that consisted of squeezing and toddling from side to side, much to Bellamy's amusement, the woman began tugging on Clarke's arm. "There's someone you have to meet."

"Oh- um-" Clarke blinked as she turned back to Bellamy.

He shook his head, an easy, kind smile stretching at his lips. "Go ahead."

"Bellamy…"

He leaned in close across the table, close enough to notice the shine of gloss on her lips as his eyes glanced down.

He could give her this, he thought, give her his support while she tried to find herself in this new world she'd practically been forced into. "Go. Have fun," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

She watched him for a moment longer, her steady gaze wavering with indecision. "I'll be right back," she promised, allowing her friend to pull her away through the crowd and he watched as she disappeared.

He heaved a heavy sigh before standing and strolling around the room.

Weaving between people, he searched for the liquor Clarke's tipsy friend had come up with. He tried his best to avoid the probing eyes of the party goers around him. Some of them knew him from before, a few from school and others from his time in the guard. But now they _all_ knew about Octavia, about how he lost both her and his mother in one day but miraculously went unpunished himself – besides a small demotion, of course.

And they all wanted to know how he'd gotten away with it, as well as how he and his mother had kept the existence of an illegal person hidden for nearly sixteen years – the longest in Ark history.

He knew if he spoke to any of them their meddlesome prying would tear open the wounds he still carried. They would peer inside him and scrutinize the guilt, and shame, and resentment he was certain was slowly rotting him to the core.

He licked his lips, feeling the tension rise within him like the wind before a storm. Thankfully, he found the booze just in time and poured himself a cup – or two – allowing the intense burn of it to eat away his anxiety. He closed his eyes, taking a calming breath, and then another for good measure.

He hated these people, or maybe he just hated people in general. No wonder he no longer had any friends. But he was here for Clarke, he reminded himself, and he turned, searching for her until he caught sight of the blonde of her hair. His heart slowed and his breathing relaxed as he watched her from his spot beside the refreshments.

She stood beside her friend, whose hand was wrapped round Clarke's bicep as she introduced her to a young guy with an aquiline nose and straight teeth that he seemed to show a lot of since he never stopped smiling. The guy was almost too perfect looking – like a statue, too cold to be real.

Clarke smiled pleasantly though, laughing at all the right moments and sharing stories of her own as the conversation continued.

Trying to reign in his ridiculous jealousy, Bellamy noticed how good she was at this – with people. She needed people, he realized. Not just co-workers and classmates whom she saw at work and school, but friends she could talk to and visit. She wasn't like him. She was open and clever and just as vibrant as Octavia ever was. And their four walls would snuff out any kind of light she had to give, just like they did his sister.

"You know, it'd probably be a lot less creepy if you just went over there and talked to her."

Bellamy frowned at the tall, intrusive man who took his place beside him.

"I mean, you might even have a chance if she doesn't find out you've been staring at her for like the last five minutes."

"She's my wife," Bellamy explained, brusquely, hoping that bit information would convince the guy to leave him alone.

"Oh, well then that's a _whole_ other thing, and you should probably get over there anyways because that smarmy asshole is definitely hitting on your wife."

Bellamy rolled his eyes, taking another drink, squeezing his cup a little tighter as the other man only continued to watch him.

"Though, I'm assuming you already know that since you-"

"Do you need something?"

"No," the man said with a smile. "Just… making observations."

"Well, you can stop." He saw the man nod out of the corner of his eye before leaning back against the table with arms crossed, staring off into the sea of people in front of them.

"I'm Kyle, by the way."

Bellamy sighed in frustration. The guy wasn't going anywhere, and he figured the sooner he accepted it the sooner he could relax. "Bellamy," he replied.

Kyle held out a hand, and after a moment of internal debate, he shook it.

"So is there a reason you're just watching Mr. Smiley as he ogles your wife."

As baffled as he was irritated, Bellamy shook his head. "Why are you so curious?"

"Because I don't know anyone here. And you don't look like you want to." Kyle shrugged his shoulders. "Gotta kill time some way."

"Why don't you just leave?"

"Oh, well, for the same reason you don't."

Bellamy peered at him, surprisingly curious.

"I was dragged here by a beautiful woman, only to be abandoned in the end," Kyle explained, a playful, over-exaggerated look of sorrow on his face as he held his hand to his heart.

He then nodded his head to the left, gesturing to a strange looking pair. A short, brawny man with grease covered fingers and a beard covered face was speaking with a much younger girl with a wide, infectious smile.

She really was beautiful. Smooth brown hair that shone beneath the harsh lights, and a long, lithe body that Bellamy couldn't help but admire. She talked with her hands, her movements excited and energetic, as if whatever she was discussing was her favorite topic in the world.

It was cute.

 _But she's not Clarke_ , his mind supplied. And he wondered when the hell he started comparing all women to his young wife.

"Well, he's a lot better looking than you," Bellamy said with a tilt of his head.

Kyle nodded in agreement. "Don't I know it. That beard turns _me_ on. But fortunately, he's not the one I have to worry about."

Bellamy's brow rose in question.

"Boyfriend's in lockup," Kyle explained.

Bellamy shrugged. "Doesn't sound like you have much to worry about. You're an adult man who goes to parties just for her and he's a teenage delinquent in lockup."

"Yeah," Kyle sighed, dramatically, "but she's still in love with him. And you never forget your first love."

Bellamy's eyes traveled from the pretty brunette back to a certain blonde. Clarke's new "friend" was still talking, entertaining the small group he had around him. Clarke, however, seemed… bored. She still smiled politely, but it was tight and insincere, not quite reaching her eyes. It made him feel a bit of cruel satisfaction.

"You know, this would be a lot less likely to happen if she were wearing a ring," Kyle pointed out.

The ring.

Bellamy had spent the last few weeks scouring the exchange for the perfect one, but the selection of wedding rings was small at best. He'd even taken a ring that he'd found in Clarke's underwear drawer, just in case he _did_ find the perfect one, he could match it to her size.

Not that he regularly went through Clarke's underwear drawer… It'd been early and he'd still been half-asleep, mistaking her drawer for his own.

"I could make one. If you want," Kyle offered, breaking through Bellamy's thoughts.

"Make one?"

"Yeah, I'm an engineer. Designing a small metal ring shouldn't be _too_ hard."

He was at a complete loss for words. Did this random guy just offer to personally design his wife's wedding ring? Should he let him?

His gaze flew to Clarke. The smiley asshole was now holding her hand between them. She shook her head, gracefully pulling it away.

"When can you make it?"

Kyle gave him a triumphant smile. "Come visit me in Mecha, section C-12. You can give me her size and we can talk about what you want."

"I don't have much to trade for it," Bellamy confessed, voice laced with embarrassment. His face grew hot and he peered down at his feet, trying to hide how much it bothered him to admit it. Truth be told, he didn't really have anything to trade for it. Not for a personally made wedding ring.

"Consider it a wedding gift. It's the least I can do for Clarke."

Bellamy's head snapped up at her name. He was fairly certain he hadn't said it. "How do you know her?"

"I don't. I knew her dad, Jake. He was a good man. A good boss."

Bellamy was floored. He'd never heard anyone discuss Clarke's father, not even Clarke. He didn't know anything about the man. And now he was curious how, if he was such a good man, could he miss his own daughter's wedding, not to mention never visit her once?

But as quickly as the question came to him, what he was certain was the answer, came just as fast.

"Was?"

Kyle knitted his brows. "Didn't she tell you about her father?"

Bellamy didn't answer, didn't know how. He supposed he could tell him that he and his wife barely knew each other, rarely speaking about themselves in regards to anything deeper than favorite foods and past times. They'd reached a level of comfort around each other that people do after living in such a small space together, but it was still reserved, still… distant. And he wanted so much more.

He wanted to know how she became such a good artist, and what she felt as her fingers held the charcoal, gliding across the white page, her face taking on a damn near tranquil expression as she sat on her bed, curled up in the corner. He wanted to know about the scar on her stomach that he couldn't help but eye whenever her shirt rode up as she stretched in the morning; how she learned to sing, and what other songs she knew besides the one tune she hummed over and over again that drove him fucking crazy, but also couldn't help but hum himself while he was working. And why? Why did she love that melody so much that it was the _only_ one she chose to sing?

He wanted to know _Clarke_ , and what made her who she was. But at the same time, he couldn't help but hold himself back.

How real was this relationship? How real did she think it was? How real did she want it to be? Would she still want it if she found out about his mother and Octavia? Or that he'd only agreed to marry her in the first place to save his sister and himself?

He didn't want to lead her on, didn't want to lie to her. But he was too afraid to tell her the truth, to tell her about himself and just how much he'd failed the family he'd had before. And how certain he was that he'd fail her as well.

And their son.

Bellamy swallowed hard. He was going to have a son. He was going to be a father. It was mind boggling and amazing. And every time he allowed himself to stop and truly think about it, it was like a current of electricity jolted through him, filling his chest and making his heart beat twice as fast as it became lighter than it'd ever been, making it impossible to stop the stupid smile that crept across his face.

But it would soon be sullied by an absolute dread that would pass over him. Clouding his mind and infecting the happiness he'd allowed himself to feel. He wasn't strong enough to protect Octavia and his mother. They'd been his responsibility, and he'd let them down. He'd been their downfall.

It was only a matter of time, the dark anxiety hiding within him would whisper, it was only a matter of time before the same happened with Clarke and their baby.

Thankfully, Kyle rescued him from his gloomy thoughts, which were quickly sinking into darker and darker territory.

"He was floated, her father."

That was… not what he'd been expecting. He'd assumed the man was dead, but because of some kind of sickness or accident, not execution. An image of his mother's face just before those hatch doors opened, flashed in his mind, and the pain it brought on was almost too much to bear in front of all these happy, smiling people.

His heart broke for Clarke, knowing exactly what it felt like to have someone ripped away from you.

"Why?"

Kyle shook his head as if it was a mystery, though he still answered. "Treason. And they didn't elaborate any more than that. But I knew Jake. It just doesn't make any sense."

Bellamy's gaze drifted back to Clarke. She still stood within her group, but her attention was anywhere but. Her head was swiveling around discretely, her chin raised high as she peered over a sea of heads, searching for something. His stomach clenched when her eyes found him, her face lighting up with a relieved smile.

She'd been searching for him.

Kyle suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. "Come see me when you're ready," he said, before striding towards the pretty brunette.

Bellamy set his cup down and began making his own way through the crowd.

After finally breaking through, their eyes found each other once again, and though her smile of relief was perfection, making his heart leap at the fact that it was for him, more than anything else in that moment he just wanted her to be happy, _truly_ happy.

He wrapped his hand around her forearm. "I'm going to have to steal my wife," he said with a grin, before abruptly pulling her away, not even taking a moment to gauge the reactions of her companions.

Clarke trailed behind him, her small hand holding tight to his as he expertly maneuvered them through the crowd. He suddenly halted, turning and slowly pulling her close. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of fascination and uncertainty.

He placed a hand on the small of her back, his other, taking hold of one of hers, and he began swaying their bodies together, leading her to the rhythm of the upbeat melody with a skill that made her eyes widen in astonishment.

"I thought you didn't dance?" she marveled.

He shrugged, gazing over her head, wanting to keep the mood light but still too afraid to meet her eyes. "Maybe I just needed someone to change my mind."

She shook her head at him, trying to keep up with his talented feet. He was absolutely ridiculous, and perplexing, and handsome, and she was fairly certain she'd never been this close to him before for this long. She reminded herself to breathe, passing out from oxygen deprivation was not exactly the most romantic thing in the world.

There was a strength to him, a confidence. She felt it in the arm he had wrapped around her, and the hand that held firm against her back. He grounded her, made her feel safe, secure, protected – all feelings she rarely experienced since her dad's death.

"Thank you," she said softly, finally making him look down at her.

He seemed to be wrestling with some emotion, something he wanted to say but couldn't. She knew the feeling. They so badly just needed to _talk_. But for some reason it was almost impossible for them.

Inhaling deeply, she twisted the hand that was held in his and interlocked their fingers, gripping him firmly. His were so much larger, she noticed, so much darker.

A wave of desire rushed through her veins and shot low into her belly, and suddenly everything became stronger, heightened, more intense. His body as it moved against hers, so solid and steadfast; his scent as it invaded her nostrils, musky and intoxicating, making her dizzy. Her heart thrummed in her chest and she knew he had to feel it, pressed as close as he was to her.

She laid her head on his shoulder, if only to give herself an excuse to close her eyes and take control of her senses once again, but the feel of him against her cheek didn't really help matters.

He on the other hand, never even faltered. The only thing giving him away, his suddenly stiff posture. But he soon relaxed against her, and the smooth pace of their movements along with the synched rhythm of their breaths, became a refuge against the burden of her thoughts and her fears about their future.

Here, now, in each other's arms, it truly felt like everything would be okay. As long as they stuck together, they would be okay.

xxxxxxxxx

 **So was it worth it? I really hope so!**

 **Come visit me on tumblr (athenasnina), where I do nothing but reblog anything and everything with these two crazy kids.**


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